


First Breath

by FreakyVintageWallpapers



Category: God of War (Video Games)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 22:35:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19710862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreakyVintageWallpapers/pseuds/FreakyVintageWallpapers
Summary: As Ragnarok grows closer, the Yggdrasil begins to open strange portals around the Lake of Nine. After an attempt to close a large rift in front of their home, a young god is pulled through and Kratos will do anything to return him home.





	First Breath

Atreus seemed so tiny curled up on the bed. He had toed off his boots and barely shrugged off his furs before exhaustion overtook him. He was still haphazardly undressed with one arm tucked into his tunic and both feet with socks halfway off. The arm that was free was hanging off the bed frame and his knees were tucked close to his stomach. He was bound to have a sore neck with his chin pointed to the sky and his head cocked to the side. The pale tattooed man let his eyes wander to the small chest to make sure it was still rising and falling.

The young spartan chuckled to himself watching his future son fidget and mumble sleepily as he dreamed. How lucky he was to have sleep come so easy. Kratos pulled himself up from the pile of furs the boy had given him hours ago and wandered to the bucket near the doorway filled to the brim with water. He had watched the boy cup his hand and bring the water to his mouth after their short meal. Before the older version of himself had noticed the boy’s sluggish movements and demanded he nap while he went off to hunt. He didn’t acknowledge his younger self before he left.

The soldier picked up the bucket and took a long, slow drink. He thought about looking for more food, he had felt more hungry than ever since he had arrived, but didn’t want to risk accidentally waking up, Atreus. As his mind traveled back to the boy sleeping and he turned his head to make sure he was still breathing. He was the same as he had left him, his chest steadily moving. 

The older man set the bucket down and crept towards the boy, being careful not to wake him. He stood at the end of the bed and gently tugged at his ankles. Atreus’s legs unfolded and he tucked the boy’s arm against his side. He reached to pull the other arm back through the sleeve and plucked the falling wool socks from his feet. Slowly he slid his hand under his neck and adjusted his head so that he was laying straight and flat. The boy stirred slightly. 

“Father?” He murmured, his eyes drooped lazily. The younger version of his father shushed him gently, and the boy fell back to sleep instantly. The boy rolled to his side and brought his knees back to his chest. The young Kratos resisted the urge to sigh as the boy ruined his careful work. He searched for the discarded blankets that were thrown to the floor and bundled him under three of them. The man had never experienced such a winter like this before. He couldn’t believe how high the snow stacked itself in this land. He could see why the older version of him had taken to wearing pants and long boots to stave off the cold. 

Kratos couldn’t bring himself to leave Atreus’s side. With the blankets covering his small form he could no longer tell the rise and fall of his chest. He knew it was unnecessary to watch the boy so closely, but he could not shake the thought of Calliope from his mind. The memory of her wouldn’t shake the moment he learned the boy was his son.

She had only been a few months old, just learning to sit up on her own and roll around. He had just returned from a campaign and Lysandre was so tired from being up with their daughter that it didn’t take much to convince her to let him handle Calliope for a few hours. The babe had stayed up for as long as she could, fighting sleep as the near stranger held and rocked her. He kept her in his arms for a long while, just watching the rise and fall of her chest. The steady rhythm lulling them both. When he laid her in her crib, he wasn’t ready to leave her side just yet. He sat himself in the chair Lysandre normally took up when she fed their daughter, and his eyes closed. It had been a long journey, and with both his lovely Lysandre and Calliope sleeping peacefully his heart was at ease. 

He could only assume it was instinct that woke him up. Something wasn’t right and he was on his feet in seconds. The sun had set, leaving him fumbling to light a candle. With the room illuminated he surveyed the corners and other hiding places where an enemy could be waiting. He saw nothing amiss until he looked inside of the crib. Calliope’s face was blue, her eyes closed as though she was still sleeping. He quickly drew her up and into his arms and he screamed for his wife. He rubbed and pressed down on her chest, trying to convince her lungs to move and fill with air. Lysandre stood in the door and quickly took the little girl from his arms. She blew gently in her daughters face and mimicked Kratos’s rubbing until the baby began to squirm a new. She drew in a deep breath, her face turning from a dark purple to a bright red as she screamed and cried. Both parents had visibly relaxed. 

They ran to the servants quarters, seeking out the head of their maids, an elderly woman who was on her sixth grandchild. The two couldn’t think of anyone else who would know what to do with the doctors busy nursing those injured from the war. The woman took the baby in her shaky arms and Calliope continued to cry. She felt her throat and gently laid her ear to her chest. 

“These things happen. Babies stop breathing in their sleep. Seems you startled her out of it. I don’t think it’s likely to happen again if you’re worried.” She passed the baby back to Kratos and patted his arm. He glared at her, not content with her answer. 

“It’s good you were there, sir. She’ll be fine once she’s fed, I’m sure.” She retired to her room. 

Now, looking at his small son bundled against the cold winds of the world around them reminded him of the small babe in the crib. The boy was well past the age of an infant, and Kratos knew logically that he wouldn’t stop breathing as he slept, but he couldn’t shake the clench in his chest. He just looked so frail, his chest too small, and his skin too pale. Just like Calliope when she was younger. Watching her lose the ability to breathe had been his first time she almost died because of his negligence. Now he couldn’t lose the memory of it, the worry that his first mistake with Atreus would be the same as Calliope’s. He wouldn’t be able to sleep so far away from his son with that dread sinking into his bones every few minutes. 

He sat on his knees, and folded his arms on the bed, his elbow just barely grazing Atreus’s knee. He rested his cheek on the crook of his arm and laid his other hand on the edge of the pillow, just close enough to Atreus’s mouth that he could feel the gentle brush of breath against his knuckles. 

The boy looked peaceful, as if there were no danger in the world. As if there wasn’t a horrid monster in front of him. Kratos grimaced as he thought back to how Calliope’s face had turned the color of a bruise. Had he not woken up, his daughter would have been spared the horrible fate he’d cursed upon her. His darling girl so easily taken from him by his own blades. Would his sweet Atreus suffer the same? 

The boy stirred again. His eyes, still hazy with sleep, focused on the hand in front of his face. His arm burrowed out of the blankets and reached out to intwine his fingers with Kratos’. The man gave the boy a soft smile as the eyes turned to him.

“Sleep, little father.” Atreus mumbled, on the verge of unconscious.

“I'm not so little, small Atreus.” Kratos chuckled at the annoyed grunt. He was back to dreaming within the minute. Kratos could feel the warmth of the small fingers squeezed between his own. He twisted his hand in the grip so he could press the pad of his thumb against the boy’s wrist. His body eased as he felt the slight thrum of his pulse. 

With the boy safe in front of him, he finally let the exhaustion creep in. He had been so caught up in worrying about Atreus to care about his own needs, and he would need to be rested if he was to stay vigilant. With one last squeeze of the small wrist, he slowly closed his eyes.

—— 

When he opened his eyes, someone was standing over him. He prepared to move when he finally caught a glimpse of the attacker. It was himself. The older version his son called “Father.” He hadn’t noticed that his younger self had woken, his eyes were fixed on Atreus still sleeping before them. 

The older man laid the back of his hand carefully on the boy’s forehead like Lysandre had done when Calliope fell ill. He gently felt his cheeks looking for any sign of a lingering fever and huffed a small sigh of relief when he found none. He then held his hand in front of the boy’s mouth, his shoulders relaxing when the soft breathing ghosted over his fingers. Atreus opened his eyes and looked up at his father and then to the young soldier.

“Did you catch anything?” Atreus whispered, gazing back up. He sat up his fingers still untwined with the younger man’s, the other hand covering his mouth as he yawned.

“Stag. Come get ready for lunch, Atreus.” He looked down at the man next to his son’s bed. Atreus couldn’t read either of their expressions but he knew they weren’t exactly friendly. 

His father was the first to speak, “Put on pants.”


End file.
